May, 1992. Wide-eyed and deflated, I clutch the steering wheel of my Toyota Corolla wagon, rain drumming on the roof, and peer out at my new home, #447 in the Beaver Creek Employee Housing Compound at Grand Teton National Park. Splintered steps tilt into the dented white and green trailer. Around its base, rusted sections of corrugated metal form a patchy apron. The roof undulates. I can’t erase from my mind an image of the home I’ve left, my Massachusetts Cape, with its cedar shingles and wraparound porch. . . . I expected better from Grand Teton. I dared to hope for something attractive, built of logs of course, where I’d put up curtains and raise a kitten.